True freedom and morality have taken a hard hit in the U. S. since the last presidential election, but all is not lost. There is an amazing movement of citizens who have finally awakened to the need to be much more vigilant and proactive than ever before — and a whole new generation of conservatives who are not afraid to break free of the establishment and actually fight for the freedoms our forefathers gave everything to win for us. Just thought I’d post a little haiku on that subject.
Waving proud and free —
Liberty’s banner endures:
Battered but not lost.
It is enough
To take up brush and pen
And lay down shapes and colors soft —
Being in this lockdown mode has taken quite a toll
On, not just my activities, but on my soul.
I’ve found that although at the start, I chafed and whined,
Now, after many months, I’ve become self-inclined.
Where I was once outgoing and with people pleased,
I now am focused on myself, and I’ve perceived
That my self-world is very small and incomplete;
I can’t connect in person; no more meet and greet,
And even online friends, I’ve gradually set aside,
And drifted from the fellowship they did provide.
I wonder if these extreme efforts to stay “safe”
Are costing more than we should be willing to pay.
For while it’s true a little time alone is good,
Still too much time alone, it must be understood,
Can shrivel and dry up even gregarious souls;
We must have real-life fellowship to keep us whole.
Over all obstacles,
Teach me to forge ahead with such
Is a little
Closer in the mountains.
My heart’s at rest there, and I can
I know there are some who will hate me.
And others speak evil of me,
For taking a stand for what’s moral
And for keeping this nation free.
They’ve already gagged social media
That work constitutionally —
Those that allow us to speak truth,
And keep our speech legally free.
But, frankly, I won’t let it stop me.
Their opinions are not worth a sigh.
They don’t have the sense to perceive truth;
Their ignorance quotient’s too high.
But thousands have sacrificed dearly,
To win and preserve liberty.
Their blood cries out now to my own soul
That I must fight to keep us free.
And then there are millions of babies
Whose cries echo down through the years —
Butchered and murdered expertly
As lib’rals emphatically cheer.
So I won’t be quiet and passive.
I’ll speak forth the truth loud and clear.
And I know the forces of evil
Will be quite incensed when they hear.
They’ll sputter and spew out their harsh threats,
And might even put me in chains.
But even in prison, I’ll be right,
And they’ll find that they’ve nothing gained.
Because there’s an end to life on earth,
And before their Maker they’ll quell.
No matter how they twist their stories,
They’ll still end up going to hell.
Make life seem right.
The varied parts should fit
And compliment each other to
In this crooked and perverse generation, we must stand tall for the Lord.
“Stand up, stand up for Jesus.
The strife will not be long.
This day the noise of battle;
The next the victor’s song.
To those who vanquish evil
A crown of life shall be;
They with the King of Glory
Shall reign eternally.”
Lyrics by C. Barry Robertson / George Duffield / George J. Webb
The truth of Jesus Christ’s complete redemption can be told in any form. In this post I’ve set God’s truth into Cinquain — one of my favorite poetic forms.
To lots of folks
It is a scary word.
But there’s a name that can kill it:
By any name.
Must bow to Jesus’ name.
His sacrifice redeemed us from
Get in His Word:
He says it’s medicine
For every ailment we can face.
(Scripture References: Acts 3:16, Philippians 2:9-10, Galatians 3:13-14, Proverbs 4:20-22, and Psalm 107:17-20)
The tomb in which Christ’s body lay,
And the stone that sealed the door,
Were both created by the God
Who by His own name swore
That after three days and three nights,
Christ would rise from the dead.
God gave His Word, which has the power
Against which none can stand.
And when He said, “The price is paid,”
And shouted His command,
Christ rose with life for one and all,
And vanquished sin and death.
I’ve shared this story several times in article format over the past 9 years, but never put it all together in a book that was available on a world-wide market. But now it’s available through Amazon in paperback and digital.
The little-known, but true story of one of the most amazing soul-winners in the history of the Kingdom of God. St. Patrick of Ireland’s life of ministry is replete with astounding miracles and spiritual experiences that match those reported in the chapters of God’s Word.
And Patrick is credited with bringing at least 70,000 people to a saving faith in Jesus Christ — without the use of any transportation except his feet and his horse, and without the help of electricity or modern technology on any level. The story related in this booklet is taken from Patrick’s own writings and sidesteps vague legends to give the reader powerful truth that will encourage and inspire the faith of everyone who wants to serve God.
Short and easy to read. Get a copy today and an extra for someone whose faith you want to inspire.
Memories so sweet:
Daddy baking cookies from
Flaky, sugared, golden dough
Stuffed with hickory nuts.
Each year at Christmas,
In kitchen warm and cozy –
Memories so sweet.
For decades, my dad (who was Bulgarian/Polish) baked Hungarian cookies. It was a recipe handed down from one Balkan country to another, and was a favorite of our family. However, in the last several years of my dad’s life, Christmas season included so many other activities as well that sometimes he just didn’t have time to bake those cookies along with everything else. When those years came along, he baked them for me on my birthday instead, which is February 1st. So it’s right that I’m thinking about them in February this year. I can almost taste them even now.
I celebrate twelve days of Christmas.
Beginning on our Christmas day.
Keeping with cent’ries of tradition,
I give out a gift on each day.
The focus for twelve days of Christmas
Is keeping Christ’s birth fresh and new:
Continuing the happy rejoicing —
Not packing things up — as some do.
For Christmas is not just December,
And not just for two or three days —
Begun and then done oh so quickly,
Leaving many then feeling malaise.
Come, join me for twelve days of Christmas:
Sing carols and give gifts of love.
For twelve lovely days making merry,
Reveling with angels above.
photo courtesy of Prawny @ pixabay.com
Country lanes at Christmas —
For the traveler, such a chore.
Snow encrusted, rutted lanes
That make manuv’ring poor.
It’s hard to see the shoulders
And the middle line is blurred.
For traffic in the other lane
No ample room’s assured.
And drawing towards the end of day,
When light is running low,
Traversing snowy country roads
Mandates my going slow.
But I’ll continue trav’ling down
Those snowy country lanes,
To friends and fam’ly, waiting me.
It’s worth whatever strain.
Besides, those Christmas country roads
Through woods and fields snow-clad
Resound with quiet so unique
It makes my heart quite glad.
They seem to wear a special peace
That blankets their domain.
And settles over me when I’m
On snowy, country lanes.
photo courtesy of Reijo Telaranta @ pixabay.com
Wait before me.
I stand before closed doors
But do not let that hinder me:
The doors obeyed.
And now I stand in awe.
I see what possibilities
I must decide:
Will I cross the threshold?
Will I accept new challenges?
A Cardinal sits with me at end of day.
It’s been a sad, unhappy time,
And I have lost my way.
He seems content to stay a while and rest,
And my front porch is cool with shade,
Sun moving to the west.
On other days I’ve seen him flit and fly
And labor quite industriously
For food that caught his eye.
Those days he’d pick at wings and clean and preen,
Then dart away and back again,
Quite nervous did he seem.
He changed his stance and cocked head constantly,
Not holding still a moment long;
He agitated me.
But, suddenly, this eve he’s come to sit.
As if he knew my sorrowful plight —
That I was in this pit.
And now and then he sings aloud his song.
But when he stops a while,
For more I long.
I’m sure his day is done; he should head home,
But here he sits beside my chair,
Just so I’m not alone.
His beauty, I have finally come to see,
Is unsurpassed: his ruby hue,
Wings black-edged perfectly.
In truth he is a masterpiece of life:
Each part of him a sculptor’s dream,
Down to his beady eye.
A good half hour he’s stayed and felt at home.
And looks right at me now and then,
To say, “You’re not alone.”
I sigh and realize I am content.
I close my eyes; begin to smile.
This is what Jesus meant.
He urged us to behold the birds of air
And take a lesson from each one
About His love and care.
“Yes, Jesus, I’m at peace in You at last.
This little bird you sent to me
Has fulfilled his task.
So take care of him, Lord and keep him strong,
And send him out to other souls
Who need to hear his song.”
Then opening my eyes, I seek my friend.
But he has flown while I have prayed,
His mission at an end.
“Look at the birds of the air! They don’t worry about what to eat — they don’t need to sow or reap or store up food — for your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are.” (Matt. 6:26 TLB).